No More Teachers' Dirty Looks

We're leaving sometime in the next couple of days to spend a week or so at my parents' farm. I don't know exactly when we're leaving, I don't know exactly how long we'll be gone, and I don't know exactly how many children we're coming home with (N may stay on for a bit and be chauffered back by my mom). I don't know if we're all going together, or if the kids and I will go and Husband will follow us a day or two later. All this not-knowing is kind of bothersome.

I don't know much
But I know I love you
And that may be
All I need to know

That was in case you needed a little Aaron Neville/Linda "Too Damn Many Consonants" Rondstadt clunking around in your head. You're welcome.

Today was N's last day of school. He made a couple of super sweet cards, full of hearts and general adorableness, and picked out a bouquet of flowers (totally his idea, not even a nudge from me) for each teacher. The shrivelled, blackened lump I call my heart got a little bit squishy as I watched him walk, rather solemnly, into the classroom with a big bunch of flowers in each arm. He certainly looked classier than his brothers--J, on my hip, had no shoes on, and G had a small wet spot on his crotch. Glorious.

Tonight N was so excited at the prospect of our impending trip that he couldn't wind down. Once the little guys were asleep, I laid next to him and played with his hair to help him settle. It took just a couple of minutes to relax him enough to fall asleep. He's so big, but he's so little. I love to watch him grow, but I love that he's still my boy. I hope he never grows too big to be my boy.

Random

Poor J. While his older brothers play outside, soaking up the cancerous rays and eating freezer pops full of refined sugar and dye, he presses his face against the screen, shrieking and gnawing an ice cube through the mesh of his Safe Feeder. He never gets to have any fun.

Today N graduated from preschool/kindergarten. I'm not sure what to call it--he's in a class with kindergarten kids, but he's in preschool. He'll do kindergarten proper next year. Whatever it is, he got his little certificate today, with a wee photo stuck to it of him wearing a graduation gown and a happy happy grin. He was SO excited to sing in the concert they put on for the parents. I must say, he looked ever so handsome in his pinstriped vest and white button-down shirt. He felt handsome too, you could just tell.

After that we took in a rugby game--well, Husband watched, the kids and I just kind of wandered around until the sky opened up, then we scurried around looking for sweaters and shelter. Despite getting soaked, the kids had a blast.

Tomorrow is Father's Day. N has a card and a little cup of coloured bath salts to give him. He made them at school. I have nothing. I thought perhaps I'd give him the gift of hanging out with his kids all day while I disappear to the sewing room to finish a project. I'm thoughtful like that.

My ab muscles (they're in there somewhere) are sore, like I used them or something. That's silly--I don't use muscles. Except those required to lift my food to my face, and then to chew it. Those are my favourite muscles, and I think they're quite well-developed. I exercised (wink, nudge) by eating three Two-Bite Carrot Cakes, before reading the nutritional info to discover I had just consumed 290 calories. Those bastards!

And just like that, I'm done.

The Nan Machine Hath Cometh

My grandmother is amazing. She and my mom came into town a couple of days ago, and while Mom was attending her computer course downtown, Grandma kicked into action here at the homestead. My laundry: all clean and folded. My bathrooms: scrubbed. My floor: mopped. My kids: bathed in adulation. The woman is 75 and she kicks my ass.

In addition to her many other skills, Grandma doesn't make me feel totally inadequate while she's doing all my housework. I was shamed when she asked for a toilet brush, and bleated something about how I'd scrubbed one toilet, but hadn't had a chance to do the others yet. You know what she said? She said, "Don't you worry, you just keep doing a wonderful job raising those sweet little boys." I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. I love that woman.

Rock on, Nan. You da bomb.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

I am so ready for school to be out. Kindergarten is cramping my style. It's putting a serious dent in my social life. The weather is gorgeous, and despite my being completely mental, my friends keep calling and inviting me to join them in fun family outings. "Hmm," I say, "what time are you doing this fun family outing?" I already know that school will interfere. It always does. "Oh, sorry," I tell them, "N has school in the afternoon--we'd better not miss that." And the kids and I all serve our time while our friends, footloose and fancy-free, enjoy their fun family outing. Three more weeks, and then we kick kindergarten to the curb. Until fall, when we do it all over again, and try to add a 3-year-old preschool program to the mix. Can't hardly wait. I'm not sure if I'll feel unfettered, having just one kid to deal with for a while, or if I'll be so busy chauffering the big guys that I have no time for anything else.

I was starting to wonder why the heck I was breaking out, flipping out, and pigging out. Just now I felt a weird sensation, much like a menstrual cramp. Oh...right. My uterus is trying to fire itself up again. Lucky me. Even luckier are the people who have to live with me while I am completely mental. They've been getting complacent since I've only been half-assed mental lately...the return to completely mental can't be enjoyable for any of them.

Having suddenly realized why I've been such a shrew this week (fucking uterus), I have no qualms about feeding my salt and sugar cravings now. I just ate some leftover popcorn, and now I need to move on to ice cream. Music may soothe the savage beast, but the savage bitch needs some junk food. I may drink caramel sauce right out of the bottle. Hormones = Free Pass. Ho yeah, pass the spoon!